Page 42 of Misadventures of a Biker

“What is it?” I asked.

“Pimento chicken sandwich,” she said over a mouthful of food. “Pimento cheese, bacon jam, arugula, and buttermilk fried chicken. It’s to die for.”

“A fried chicken sandwich?” I narrowed my gaze in disbelief. “Do you always eat like this?”

Midway through another monstrous bite, she paused. She nodded eagerly. “I’ve got the metabolism of a cheetah.”

She didn’t have an ounce of fat on her.

“You must,” I said with a laugh. “You can’t weigh ninety-eight pounds.”

“A hundred eighteen, this morning,” she said, as if it were a bad thing. “It fluctuates based on my eating habits. I’ll go a while eating like this and then feel guilty and stop. Generally, I can get by on wine, coffee, and compliments.”

“Compliments? You can’t sustain life with compliments.”

“I can come close. They go a long way with me. I’m one of those women who constantly needs reassurance that she’s doing a good job.”

“Have you tried Downtown Coffee and Wine in Bonita?” I asked. “They make a killer espresso. You could get two out of three of your necessities right there.”

She swallowed her food and grinned. “I haven’t. But wine and coffee in one place? That’s genius.”

“It’s fantastic,” I said. “The beverages and the food. Kate introduced me to it.”

“If you went with me, I could get coffee, wine, and compliments all in one place. I like how you compliment me, by the way. It’s nice.”

It was difficult not to compliment her. In my eyes, she defined perfection. I offered her a look of reassurance. “Keep being you, and I’ll keep the compliments coming.”

“I can’t be anyone else.” She nibbled her sandwich. “The house will be done tomorrow?”

“It will. I’ve got quite a surprise for you, too.”

Her eyes shot wide. “Now?”

“Not now. Tomorrow, when we see it.”

“I can’t wait.” With her mouth curled into a slight smile, she gazed blankly at me for a moment. “How can you be single?” she asked, going back to inspecting her sandwich. “Or, how could you be single? You’re too good a catch to be available.”

“I’ve never been in a serious relationship,” I admitted. “Mister perpetually single.”

She gave me a funny look. “I don’t see you as a player.”

I finished my Korean beef taco and wiped my hands clean. “I’m not. When I was young, I figured out that sex didn’t really work for me, so I never really had a relationship until I was older. My relationships weren’t really relationships, just me seeing someone for a couple of weeks. As soon as they figured out things were the way they were, they’d leave me.”

“What do you mean sex didn’t work for you?”

“I realized I couldn’t get it up if I didn’t have a handful of hair or was talking filthy. Not everyone wants to participate in such filth.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “You couldn’t achieve erection without it?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll be darned.” She picked up the other half of her sandwich. “It’s not filth, by the way. Just because it’s different from the norm doesn’t mean it’s bad. With regular sex or whatever it’s called, I never could have done that three-minute thing I did. No way. It would take me an hour to reach climax, if it ever happened.”

It was reassuring to think that there was someone else who possessed the same sexual characteristics and desires I did. Whether our relationship lasted three weeks or three months, having a compatible partner was a huge plus.

“So, what about you and relationships?” I asked. “Why are you single?”

She put her sandwich down and sipped her vodka spritzer through the straw. “I’ve been in a few relationships. The last one was a disaster. I haven’t been in one for a year. Gun-shy or whatever after that one, I guess.”